


Becoming the Dragon

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Sort-of College AU, Young Hanzo, young Jesse, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: This moment has been twenty years in the making. Hanzo will undertakeseijin shiki, the coming of age ceremony as it has been celebrated for over a century in the new year, but now, today, on his actual twentieth birthday, he will take the same journey that every Shimada ancestor has undergone, and he will come away with one thing: the power of the dragon.





	1. Student

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Becoming the Dragon!
> 
> This is one of the McHanzo Reverse Bang pieces I have had the pleasure of working on. Those of you who have been following me know how much Magisey means to me, and working with them on this piece has been an absolute joy. I fell in love instantly with the idea, and creating this story was just so easy. The accompanying artwork is just gorgeous, and I can't wait till you all see it! The fic will be updated with the artwork when Magisey posts it.
> 
> I also wish to extend the biggest of thanks to Dee for hosting yet another fantastic event. And to everyone still in the RBB: we did it, guys!!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism welcome. 
> 
> Enjoy!

With each step Hanzo takes, his anxiety grows.

Not that he is entirely sure _why_ he is so nervous. He is undertaking the next step on his journey as a Shimada. His father went through it. His aunts and uncles. His grandfather. His great-grandfather. Genji will go through this when the time comes.

This moment has been twenty years in the making. Hanzo will undertake _seijin shiki_ , the coming of age ceremony as it has been celebrated for over a century in the new year, but now, today, on his actual twentieth birthday, he will take the same journey that every Shimada ancestor has undergone, and he will come away with one thing: the power of the dragon.

The grounds of Shimada Castle are quiet; much quieter than normal. The gardens are absent loud power tools, the kitchens are empty, security is down to a bare minimum, patrolling the grounds and ensuring there are no interruptions, and the shrine is closed to the public.

The spring sun shines down from above, the air warm and still. He passes blossoming trees, only a day or two from the peak of the sakura blooming period, and fill the air with a sweet, subtle fragrance. A pair of birds hop from tree to tree, singing a song that cuts through the otherwise silent grounds.

As Hanzo approaches the torii gate, he sees Mother and Genji waiting outside. Mother, proud smile on her face and eyes welling with tears, extends her arms outwards and meets him, pulling him into a hug.

“Today you become a man,” she whispers, tightening her embrace. “My baby boy is all grown up—” her voice wavers, catches in her throat as she sobs.

Hanzo closes his eyes, an effort to put a cap on his own emotions and not to show weakness, knowing Father will be nearby. He focuses on the smell of her perfume; the floral undertones are surprisingly calming, more so than he would have thought. Though he supposes that the smell is something he has grown up with, a smell ever-present throughout his life that he now associates with safety, love and warmth.  

When he feels Mother relax, he pulls away. She cups his face, stands on her toes to kiss his forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

“I am good,” Hanzo answers, nodding. He brings his voice down, shrinks down a little as he says, “A little nervous,” before standing up tall and drawing his shoulders back. The only person he feels that he can truly be himself around—well, two people, Mother and Genji—allowing them to see the vulnerability, the real person behind the mask he wears in front of Father.

Mother smiles, nods. “That is understandable, Hanzo. This is a significant step in your life’s journey.” She takes his right hand and holds it in both of hers. “There is also no need to be nervous, you will be fine.”

Hanzo smiles, gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispers before pulling away. He looks at Genji, his eyes are full of hope and promise, then to the fabric in his hands.

“I could not resist,” Genji says sheepishly, holding out the two little flags. The first, the words ‘good luck’ printed on a blue and red rising sun background, the other a pale orange embroidered fan, peonies and sakura blossoms on a grey background. Ever the artist, Genji’s attention to detail is astounding.

“You did not have to go to any effort,” Hanzo mumbles, taking the fabric in his hands. Both are silk, smooth and cool under his fingertips. He smiles at Genji, adding, “Now it is expected that I go to more effort to present you gifts when it is time for you to undergo this process.”

Genji’s eyes light up and he cannot contain his grin. “Are you taking requests? How about—”

“Genji, _please_ ,” Mother pleads, placing a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, “now is not the time for such discussions.” She turns to face Hanzo, extending a hand for the flags. “I will put these in your room.”

Hanzo nods and hands them over, and Mother places a hand on his back, a gentle touch which radiates warmth between his shoulder blades. He looks at Genji, gives a nod but is pulled into a hug, a tight embrace—something so _loving_ and so unlike Genji. It leaves Hanzo wondering where his little brother is; the little brother who likes to pull pranks, tries to one-up Hanzo in training, and all around makes it his personal mission to try to get Hanzo into trouble.  

“You’ll ace this like you’ve aced everything else in life,” Genji whispers. Hanzo’s only response is a series of fast nods as he holds Genji just that little bit tighter. Words of encouragement now? Hanzo is starting to wonder if the person in his arms is truly an imposter.

“Ahh, there’s my boy!”

Hanzo immediately tenses, separates from Genji and stands up straight. He looks at Father, who is all smiles and radiating pure joy, and it does nothing but send Hanzo into a mild panic. While this is not a test or exam, something that merits grading, the pressure to perform, to be better than those before him is insurmountable. Behind the smile though, Hanzo can see the hard look in Father’s eyes, can hear his voice in his head: _You are a Shimada. There is no second best._  

“Father,” Hanzo addresses, bowing his head.

Father drapes his arm over Hanzo’s shoulders, pats his chest with the other. “I can see that you are worried, my son. This is nothing compared to what you will achieve when you take over as head of the clan.” He takes a step in front of Hanzo, practically hugs him and Hanzo tenses again; this level of affection is foreign. First from Genji and now Father? The tension all but simmers when Father takes a step back, and when he does Hanzo notices that the right sleeve of his shirt is rolled up. So it was not a hug after all. “This tattoo is more than a mere tattoo, Hanzo. It is a symbol of our power. It is what sets us apart from everyone else. You should be honoured that you are about to receive this gift.”

“I am,” Hanzo replies immediately, studying the red and black irezumi decorating Father’s right arm. While the sleeve is only rolled up to his elbow, Hanzo can see the rest of the design in his mind; the tail of the black dragon starts on his wrist, it coils up his arm, and its head rests on his chest. The dragon is complimented on a background of four large fire-orange chrysanthemums; the entire tattoo as a whole is equal parts beautiful and imposing, and something Hanzo has been envious of for as long as he can remember.

Hanzo’s eyes flick up to Father’s, he gives a curt nod as he draws in a deep breath. “I am ready.” With a small smile to Mother and Genji, Hanzo approaches the gate, bows and passes through. He walks on the leftmost side of the path, past the stone tōrō. While currently unlit, the lanterns are especially beautiful when illuminated for festivals.

Outside the temple is a statue of a dragon coiling around the Earth. Practitioners of _ryūjin shinkō_ , the Shimada are worshippers of dragon kami. This statute is a display of the power of the dragon, how one day their power and influence will be known in every corner of the world.

Beside the statue is a purification fountain, and Hanzo rinses both hands, left before right, before rinsing his mouth. He casts his eyes on the altar, and with a deep breath, approaches it. First stopping at the bell, he rings it once to announce his presence to the kami before plucking the coin tucked safely into his obi and throwing it into the offering box. He bows deeply twice, claps twice, bows deeply again before taking a moment to pray to the kami, to tell them he is ready for the journey and that he wishes to gain their favour. With a final clap, he approaches the offering hall where he will be undertaking this journey.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hanzo looks at the clan elder standing next to the altar. She lights three incense sticks and an array of candles before bowing deeply and turning her attention to Hanzo.

Hanzo bows, and does not stand at full height until she has bowed and is standing straight again. “Matsuda-san.”     

“Hanzo,” she starts, clasping her hands in front of her, “today you become a man. Old enough to legally drink, to vote, and old enough to complete this final stage of your training.” She gestures to the room with the wave of her hand. “You enter here a student, and you will leave a master.”

“I am ready,” Hanzo states, lifting his chin slightly. Matsuda-san gestures to the tatami mat set up, two of which are on the floor. Hanzo bows his head and sits in seiza on the mat. He looks at the mural above the altar, similar in appearance to the one in the dojo and from the same tale; a family legend which is as ancient as the clan itself, and has been passed down from generation to generation. While the legend tells a story of redemption, the part that sticks out the most is the fact that the dragons were brothers, and one turned on the other. At times, he had wondered if it were not a legend, but rather a made-up story, a means to keep him and Genji in line. The tale was only recited whenever they fought—something that is indeed infrequent now that they are older—however, the thought of turning on his younger brother in such a manner is a completely foreign concept. As much as Hanzo is annoyed by Genji at times, there is no way he could do him any harm.

“The journey you are about to embark on will be challenging,” Matsuda-san continues. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, but she raises her hand and Hanzo closes his mouth. “No two journeys are the same, so I cannot tell you what you will encounter.” Hanzo nods, satisfied with that answer to the question he wanted to ask. “I trust you have been practising your meditation?”

“I have,” Hanzo answers. Meditation to aid his training, practice leading into this moment. It has also been a useful tool to help with his anxiety and the resulting insomnia that came with it in recent times.

“Good. I will guide you on this journey, and just know that no matter what you are shown, the kami are kind and will judge you fairly. You will not be in any physical danger.”

Hanzo nods, swallows the lump in his throat and prays again, most likely in vain, to the kami that he will be shown their favour.

“When you are ready, Hanzo, we will begin.”

With one last look at the mural, Hanzo closes his eyes.

“Clear your mind. Focus not at the task at hand, but rather on the smells and sounds around you.”

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he notes the smell of sandalwood from the incense, stronger now that it has been burning. He hears birds singing in the nearby trees. He can see them in his mind, hopping from branch to branch. Mates, perhaps?

Before Hanzo can stop himself, realising that he is indeed letting his mind wander and should focus, he hears a voice. It carries on the breeze, though it is deep, deeper than any person’s voice he has heard. It is eerie, sounds almost otherworldly, and sends a shiver down his spine.

“Ah, it seems there is another koi ready for their journey.”

Despite his reaction, Hanzo lifts his head and draws his shoulders back. “I am here to gain your favour. To be seen as worthy in your eyes as my father was, my ancestors.”

Whoever is speaking hums in amusement. “This little koi is strong. He is not afraid.”

Hanzo stands tall, not intimidated by the taunting, even if the use of ‘little koi’ is grating. Then, as if a switch is flipped, the sun disappears behind a dark cloud. The birds stop chirping and the wind picks up, whipping his hair around his face. Undeterred, Hanzo stands still, and ensures he does not respond with his actions in any way.

“He is very strong indeed.” A second voice now, slightly softer than the first. “He is not deterred.”

“Good,” the first voice says, practically a purr. It unsettles Hanzo, and he can feel a subtle vibration in his chest. “Not that he should feel proud,” and that mocking tone returns, “everyone passes the first test.”

Hanzo purses his lips, fighting the urge to retort in any way. If these two are kami, he does not wish to show them any disrespect.

“Does the little koi have something to say?” the first voice asks, and Hanzo internally seethes. It seems they picked up on his body language.

“This was barely a test,” Hanzo replies, then takes a moment to pause and choose his next words carefully, to not show whoever is watching him any disrespect. “The Shimada are fearless. Every person who has undergone this test has left with your favour. It is not a surprise that this first test was passed.” He takes a breath. “I do not fear you.”

A chuckle from the harsh one, a grating, low rumble that leaves Hanzo on edge. “Oh, but we know _whom_ you fear.”

Before Hanzo can even process those words, he finds himself in Father’s den, standing in front of his desk. Father is pacing up and down on the opposite side, hand to his chin and scowl on his face. Hanzo knows that look; someone has wronged him. He looks left, then right; a pang of anxiety strikes in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach as he realises _he_ is the subject of Father’s anger. Swallowing the lump in his throat, there has only been one instance when he was on this side of the desk, and he hopes that this is not a reenactment of that time.

“Do you understand the gravity of the situation, Hanzo?” Father asks.

Hanzo’s breath catches in his throat. If it is the kami’s goal to frighten Hanzo, then they have done their job. Hanzo remembers this moment vividly, a regret he sees it in his mind whenever he enters Father’s den, and every time he thinks about how he _should_ have approached the situation.

Then, realisation strikes; he can redeem himself in this moment. Not for the kami, but for himself.

Drawing his shoulders back, Hanzo answers, “I am aware of what was done.”

Father stops pacing, gives Hanzo that long, hard stare that he has given his lieutenants which have them instantly begging for forgiveness. Hanzo initially thought them weak, to be brought down by a single look from his father was pitiful. But when that look was directed at Hanzo, he folded like they did. Not wanting to relive the mistakes of his past, Hanzo gives Father the same stare and refuses to back down. He will remain in this stalemate forever if he has to.

“Explain it to me,” Father finally says, not breaking eye contact.

Hanzo takes a moment to collect his thoughts, to recall what he wanted to say time and time again, reciting it in his mind before saying it aloud. “I had requested some free time, just two hours after school. I wanted to take Genji to the arcade, a reward for getting good grades, but you refused.” Hanzo pauses when Father’s right eye twitches. He has never talked back to Father in this manner, and while a wave of anxiety crashes through him, he cannot back down, not now. “Tonight, you sent us to our rooms early, and we— _I_ decided that we had earned a break.”

“So Genji had no part in this? You are claiming full responsibility?”

In actuality, it was by Genji’s insistence that led them to break curfew. In the first instance, Hanzo told his father that Genji was to blame, and Hanzo still got in trouble because he was older, and should not have been influenced by his little brother. It led to an hour-long lecture on how a good leader takes responsibility for their actions, and resulted in him being grounded for a month.

He will not make the same mistake this time.

“I am. I made the offer to Genji, he did not influence me.”

Father breathes in deep, nods and continues pacing. Hanzo can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can feel the heat in his face. Still, he stands tall and proud, refusing to back down.

“We have a curfew for a reason,” Father finally says, his voice surprisingly soft as he stops pacing once again. He takes a seat at his desk, and this is the polar opposite to what happened last time. “You are but a child, Hanzo. Genji, younger still. You have a responsibility to the clan, a duty to fulfil. You cannot be sneaking outside the walls of the castle, playing arcade games and drinking.” He places his palms flat on the table, looks at his hands for a moment then looks back at Hanzo. “I will take your needs into consideration next time, to avoid this situation.”

Hanzo nods slowly. If he knew he would get off this easy by owning up to it, he would have stood up to Father long ago. But still, he feels the need to clarify that one _thing_ that still eats away at him. “Have I not disappointed you?” he asks meekly.

Father smiles. “I am disappointed that you broke curfew, but no, I am not disappointed _in_ you.” He gestures to the seat opposite him, and for the first time since the stalemate, Hanzo relaxes and sits down. “You stood up to me. You were not afraid to explain the situation, and you did not beg forgiveness.” He stands up now, walks around the desk and places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You are a Shimada, and you bow down to no one. Remember that, my son.”

Hanzo looks up at Father and nods. The grip on his shoulder tightens slightly, and Hanzo sets his jaw, ensuring to maintain eye contact with him. “If you ever pull this stunt again, I will not hesitate to ground the both of you,” he states in that dangerous tone he has heard in meetings with lieutenants, in business deals gone sideways.

“Of course, Father.” Hanzo maintains the stare until the grip on his shoulder loosens. Father pats his shoulder again, walks up to his shelf which houses the alcohol, and when his back is turned, Hanzo takes a moment to breathe and unclench his jaw. “If you wish to drink, I would prefer you do it within the castle. You are still underage, and you are lucky that the police officer who picked you up is on our payroll.”

For the first time, Hanzo smiles. “It will not happen again, Father.”

“Look,” the voice of the harsh one coos, “the little koi is not so little anymore.”

“I think he did well,” the softer one praises. “This has been weighing on his conscience for almost two years. The relief is written all over his face.”

Hanzo inhales deeply, looks at the frozen image of his father facing the alcohol cabinet. The sound of thunder booms outside, taking Hanzo by surprise. The night of this discussion was a hot, summer’s night in the middle of a dry spell. There was no thunderstorm. He wonders what this could mean, if perhaps he has angered the kami; even though they do not seem angry.

“Well, he has shown that he can stand up for himself,” the harsh one says, “that he is _brave_ enough to face those he fears, and he passes this test, too.”

Hanzo cannot contain his grin. “It was simple,” he states, matter-of-fact. “While it was a regret, it was something I always wished I could go back and change.” He looks around the room, for anything out of the ordinary which could be a clue to whom he is speaking with, but cannot see anything or anyone. So he looks at his father’s empty chair as he says, “I thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

There is a moment of calm, the only sound he can hear is the roar of the rain outside. Then, suddenly, there is another boom of thunder that nearly has Hanzo jumping out of his seat.

“And he can show respect,” the softer one purrs. He can feel his right leg tingle, like a cat is rubbing itself against him. He looks down and sees nothing there.

“You are doing well, little koi,” the harsher one praises, “but we are not done.”

Just like before, as Hanzo blinks, he is in a different room. After the brief disorientation from going to a sitting to a standing position, to a room more illuminated than Father’s den, he takes a moment to look around. He is in the university’s library, standing between two bookshelves. From here, he can see the man behind the desk and it has dread pooling in his stomach. He is the same man Hanzo has become friends with.

The same man Hanzo has a crush on.

“You recognise the next part of the test,” the harsh one says, tone mocking. “Tell us about him.”

“I am sure you know _everything_ about him,” Hanzo snaps. His right leg tingles again, and brings him back to reality, to the gravity of the situation and this journey. He takes a deep, steadying breath as he looks at the man and entertains the kami’s request. “He is an exchange student from America. We are in the same Classical Japanese Literature class, but otherwise, share no other classes. As I spend any free time I have in the library studying, on days when he is not studying, he works behind the desk. Coupled with the fact we are partnered up for projects in literature class, I see him frequently.” Hanzo takes a breath and holds it; he knows they already know what he is about to say if they have the ability to recreate the scene in Father’s den. He has no secrets. “His name is Jesse McCree,” Hanzo exhales slowly, “and he is my friend.”

“Just your friend?” the harsh one asks, amused. “Do not deny your feelings for him.”

Hanzo purses his lips. “He does not know my feelings for him. I have not told him.”

“But you feel close enough to tell him you had a test to pass this weekend. That it would mean you would be seen as a man in the eyes of your family.”

“We are friends. We tell each other everything.”

“ _Everything_? Then why have you not told him how you feel?”

Hanzo huffs, watching Jesse. He is working on the computer, head resting on his hand and he seems utterly bored. Hanzo has seen that look on him countless times, and it will be any moment now before he stands, stretches his arms over his head in that adorable way and shifts focus to putting away the returned books. The times Hanzo is in the library, Jesse always stops for a chat.

Like clockwork, Jesse yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand before he stretches in his seat, raising his arms above his head. Hanzo is reminded of the time he did that sitting next to him and his shirt rode up. Hanzo did not see skin, he was wearing an undershirt tucked into his jeans underneath his red plaid shirt, but it is an image he has been unable to shake from his memory. When Jesse lowers his arms, he scans the library through tired, heavy-lidded eyes, widening when he sees Hanzo. He smiles and waves, and Hanzo finds himself waving back on instinct. Jesse then leans back in his seat, rolls his eyes and glances at the clock. Time is dragging, it seems. Hanzo merely shrugs and smiles.

Then, Jesse brings his hand up to his mouth like he is holding a cup and drinking from it. _Coffee_. Under any other circumstance, Hanzo would agree without hesitation, sit on the grass in the sun and enjoy the afternoon coffee and the company. But just as he has that thought, there is another boom of thunder, and Jesse frowns, looking at the ceiling, then to the windows, before looking back at Hanzo, eyes wide in surprise.  

Hanzo looks over his shoulder and out the window, seeing rain run down the length of the panel in rivulets. Remembering why he is here, that this is in fact not real life, Hanzo merely looks back at Jesse and shrugs, points to the bookshelf in an attempt to look busy, and even grabs one off the shelf. He looks at it and frowns, it is a criminal law textbook from 2022, before looking at a just as confused Jesse. Hanzo is studying business analytics, there is no need to be reading criminal law, but Hanzo just shrugs again, smiles weakly to feign interest. It seems to work, because Jesse nods, gives a thumbs up and turns his attention back to the monitor.

“Interesting,” the harsh one says.

“What is?” Hanzo asks, taking the book his cubicle; the one he can see Jesse from without making it obvious he is looking at him.

“Very interesting,” they say again. “You did not speak to him. Had no physical interaction with him at all.”

“This is not real, it would not have mattered.”

“The discussion with your father was not real, yet you indulged in it.”

Hanzo inhales and exhales deeply, opening the book to some random page. “I did it for me, to right a wrong. I do not know what you want me to do here,” Hanzo says, glancing at Jesse, watching as he scratches his chin in thought before playing with the hairs of his soul patch between thumb and finger. It pulls on his bottom lip slightly, and Hanzo cannot help but smile. His right leg tingles again, and he brushes his hand against his knee, feeling a strange warmth radiate from underneath his jeans.

“We know you want to talk to him, Hanzo,” the gentler one says. “We know what you feel.”

“Then you know that I cannot have what I want.”

“What do you want?” the harsh one asks.

Hanzo looks at Jesse again, he yawns again and this time he stands, stretches, a peek of his abdomen shows which has Hanzo’s stomach doing flips. He then walks over to the trolley containing several piles of books, proceeding to cart it around and put them back on the shelves.

He sighs, turning his attention back to the book. “I am to become leader of the clan. To succeed from my father. To do my duty as heir and marry, have children and ensure the Shimada name does not die out with me.” He pauses as his left arm starts to tingle in that same way his right leg has been. He places his right hand on his forearm, and just like his leg, it feels warmer than it should.  “It is not a matter of what I want, but rather what I must do.”

“The koi is honourable,” the first voice purrs. “So I ask this, little koi,” and that condescending tone returns, “if you could walk away from your duties, if you were given a pass to be the Hanzo you want to be and not the Hanzo you were _born_ to be, would you leave it all behind? Would you run away with Jesse?”

Hanzo closes his eyes as he hears that quiet squeak from the wheel of the trolley, followed by Jesse quietly humming the same tune he always does; the opening song of ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’. They watched the movie together the other night, just the two of them alone in his apartment, sitting next to each other while sharing a blanket and bowl of popcorn. He remembers specifically the nervousness he felt when the movie ended, when he looked at Jesse only to realise Jesse was looking at him. He kicks himself now for not making the _obvious_ move, for wishing he went with his heart instead of his brain and just kissed him, but as Jesse leaned in slowly, Hanzo pulled away and spent fifteen minutes rambling, giving his analysis of the movie. Jesse did not seem disappointed in any way, and they ended up talking for two hours after that; which almost had him missing curfew.

Closing his eyes, Hanzo briefly imagines running away with Jesse, just grabbing his hand and running back to America to live with his family. Then he thinks about Genji, how Genji would be forced to be the new heir, to undergo the same stringent schedule and training Hanzo does on a daily basis, and then he realises that there is no way he could let his baby brother go through everything he has been through. Genji would not adapt to the new schedule, and Hanzo has worked too hard to get here. He will continue to work hard, to perform better than Father when he was Hanzo’s age, to have achieved more.

Taking a deep, stuttering breath, Hanzo finally answers. “I would not. I have a duty to fulfil. My loyalties are with the clan.”

Hanzo hears a deep, distant chuckle as his whole body starts to shake. The storm rages on outside, a large, long rumble of thunder accompanied by the roar of the rain drowns Jesse’s humming out as Hanzo feels a burn deep within his chest. He can feel it radiating into his left arm, his right leg. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, tries to hold back the scream that threatens to burst but fails. He screams, doubles over in pain. Convinced he is going to die, he thinks about Jesse, how he should have kissed him. He thinks about Genji, that proud look in his eyes before this journey. He thinks about Mother, how proud _she_ was.

And finally, he thinks about Father. The disappointment he will feel when he discovers Hanzo has failed this test. How Hanzo would be seen _as_ a disappointment again.

Suddenly, the burning stops. He can feel the patter of rain on his face, hear the howl of the wind, shivering when it permeates his wet clothes and chills him down to the bone. When there is a distant boom of thunder, he opens his eyes cautiously, eyes settling on the shrine. The burn in his chest lingers, but it is a shadow of what it was. His arm and leg tingle, and he rolls up his left sleeve, gaping at the sapphire blue shimmer of a dragon coiled around his arm, its maw on his wrist. He focuses on the tingle, how it continues up his arm and onto his chest. He presses a hand just below his collarbone, and pictures having a tattoo similar to that of his father. Then, he stands, pulling up his hakama, seeing the same shimmer around his right leg; the tail of this dragon starts on his ankle. Given how his whole leg tingles, he guesses it coils all the way up to his hip.

“You have passed the test,” the voice of the harsh one states, impressed.

“You are honourable,” the gentler voice says. “You put your duties to the clan above your own needs. However, you must remember that you are allowed freedoms, to be your own person, not the person the clan needs you to be. You will be guided on your path, to ensure you keep a balance between honour and freedom.”

Hanzo closes his eyes, looks up at the sky as the rain falls on his face; he shivers from a combination of his wet clothes and the icy wind. He cannot help but recall the legend of the koi who turned into the dragon after its perseverance, never giving up on trying to climb the waterfall despite the taunting it endured. Hanzo imagines himself in an equal situation; entering the journey as the koi and leaving a dragon.

As the ache in his chest fades, the storm subsides and the rain stops, and when he opens his eyes again, it is as sunny as when he started his journey. He looks at the incense burning on the shrine, then his eyes settle on Matsuda-san beside him.

“Hanzo,” she greets, smiling wide. “I trust you passed the test?”

Instead of telling her, he looks down at his left arm, pulls up the sleeve of his gi. The same imprint he saw on his journey is on his arm, shimmering a sapphire blue.

“Excellent. Your father will be pleased.”

Then, Hanzo stands, lifts up the hakama on his right leg. He glances at her, she looks on in shock, brushing her fingertips along his shin.

“You have been granted two dragons,” she breathes. Her eyes meet Hanzo’s, they well with tears. “Legend says that someone granted two dragons is destined for great and powerful things. A leader to be remembered throughout the ages.” She stands, takes Hanzo’s hand. “Come, we must show your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Hanzo closes his eyes, looks up at the sky as the rain falls on his face; he shivers from a combination of his wet clothes and the icy wind. He cannot help but recall the legend of the koi who turned into the dragon after its perseverance, never giving up on trying to climb the waterfall despite the taunting it endured. Hanzo imagines himself in an equal situation; entering the journey as the koi and leaving a dragon._ ](https://superboverwatch.tumblr.com/post/177087640566/title-becoming-the-dragon-rating-t)


	2. Master

It is Hanzo’s goal to achieve more in his short life than Father had at his age. At the young age of twenty, Hanzo is two years into his four-year business analytics course, and his grades are perfect. He is practised in ninjutsu and kyudo, the top of his classes there, too.

And he has been granted two dragons, where everyone before him was only granted one.

“I knew he was destined to be a great leader,” Father beams from beside him. Arm draped over his shoulders, he has not left Hanzo’s side since being shown the markings. The smile has not dropped from his face, either.

Mother sits on his right, scrunched up tissue in her hand. Still sniffling, she burst into tears—proud tears, she told everyone—upon seeing the markings. Fingers weaved between Hanzo’s, she has also not let go of his hand.

He looks at the elders, each and every one of them, talking amongst themselves. They are excited, practically planning out Hanzo’s life for him, and he should be paying attention to it, but the pressure is starting to reach critical mass. The thrum in his ears from his thumping pulse drowns out their words, leaving him with his thoughts: What if he fails? What if he disappoints them? What if he disappoints Father?

Closing his eyes, he attempts to steady his breathing, to calm himself. Almost in an instant, he feels a calm wash over him like a wave. Despite it, it leaves him feeling unsettled; going from teetering on the edge of a panic attack to the calmest he has felt in months. He feels a subtle vibration in the centre of his chest, and a warmth spreads through him; feeling it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

He supposes it is the dragons’ doing.

“Was there a unifying theme to your trials?” Matsuda-san asks.

Hanzo looks at her, blinking, not really sure what she means. He is to frazzled to even think back. Pursing his lips and closing his eyes, he forces himself to remember. Jesse appears in his mind, the vibration increases subtly, and he chases the image, seeing him in the library, mimicking a drink of coffee like he did on the journey, and then... “A storm. It opened with a storm, and it was present in the other trials.”

The elders look between themselves, talking hushed now. Hanzo knows he should be concerned, questioning what that all means, but does not. His mother places a hand on top of his, he looks at her and she smiles.

“The first session with the tattoo artist has been booked in for tomorrow morning,” Katakura-san says. Hanzo looks at the elder and bows his head. Katakura-san gives a somewhat sympathetic smile, something that is foreign on his face—Hanzo and Genji like to joke that if he smiled in front of a mirror, it would crack. “The sessions will be tedious, numerous and painful. We will start with the one on your arm, that alone will take four months. The one on your leg, seven to eight. Possibly longer still, given your busy schedule and to account for healing.”

Hanzo nods in response; the gravity of his new life is starting to take hold. A life where he is now seen as a young master, as a prodigy. As someone who carries spirit dragons within him. Where he is to spend a year getting half of his body tattooed.

“We can see you are tired, young master,” Matsuda-san says, and Hanzo looks at her, then at the eager faces of all of the elders before him. He wonders if he missed anything. “Rest, we can discuss this further later.”

Hanzo nods, relaxes somewhat now that _this_ is over. “I might go for a walk,” he announces to no one in particular. “The journey was difficult, I wish to have a moment to myself, to collect my thoughts.” He huffs a laugh, adding, “Feel the sun on my face.”

“Of course,” Father says quickly, taking back his arm. Mother squeezes his hand gently, cups his face and kisses his cheek before letting go. He bows to the elders when he stands, then leaves the room.

With every step he takes, he can feel the fatigue in his muscles, the emotional exhaustion of the journey. Deep in his chest, he can feel a tightness, like a spring so tightly wound it could snap at any moment. He can see the minute tremors in his hands when he holds them in front of him, and balls them into fists, determined not to show anyone the weakened state he is in.

Entering his room, he closes the shoji screen and stands in front of his mirror. He looks at his appearance, dressed in his gi and hakama, hair worn in a loose, low ponytail. Clothing usually reserved for festivals, while made from the finest cottons and silks, itch against his skin now. He unties the obi and shoulders out of his gi, folding them and placing them on his bed. The hakama untied and slid off, folded and placed on the bed to join the gi. With a sigh, he unties the fundoshi, balls up the fabric and drops it in his hamper.

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror, to truly see the extent of the markings. Holding out his left arm, he traces the fingers on his right hand up, following the dragon’s coiling body upwards, over his shoulder and onto his chest. The markings are fainter now, a pale blue in comparison to the sapphire from earlier.

He then turns his attention to his right leg, following that dragon’s body as its coils around his leg. He turns to his side, seeing as it climbs his buttock and onto his lower back sprawling over his waist and finishing on his hip. They are both almost identical in appearance, the only difference being the maw of the one on his wrist is open, the one on his hip is closed. He studies the markings, and realisation dawns on him that he will be seeing these every day for the rest of his life.

With another sigh, he walks up to his dresser, first pulling out a pair of boxer-briefs and sliding them on. Then a t-shirt, a pair of jeans and socks, and he is looking at himself in the mirror again, feeling more at ease.

Feeling like Hanzo, not the ‘young master’.

The final item to be shed is the ribbon in his hair. He pulls on it, un-knots it gently and folds that neatly on top of his other clothing. Picking up the hair elastic on top of the dresser, he combs his fingers through his hair before pulling it back into the usual top-knot. With one final look at his appearance, one last glance at the marking on his arm, he pulls the jacket from the back of his chair and slides it on. He glances at the flags Genji made and smiles, before slipping on his slippers and leaving his room; taking the quickest possible route to get outside. Stopping only to put on his sneakers, Hanzo sighs with relief when he feels the sun on his face.

He does not stop walking until he is well away from the confines of the castle, well away from the busy city centre of Hanamura and within the tranquil space of Hanamura park. Only there, sitting on the bench on the banks of the koi pond, does he allow himself to stop and actually _enjoy_ the feel of the sun, the gentle spring breeze on his skin. He cannot help but chuckle to himself; it is something he never cared about in the past, and now it is all he craves.

Once again, Jesse enters his mind. He imagines Jesse sitting next to him, enjoying the coffee they never got to share on his journey, and smiles; He will have to buy him one on Monday after class.

The vibration in his chest starts up again, and he takes a moment to focus on it. It increases in intensity then fades to almost non-existent intermittently for varying durations. It is accompanied by a hum in his ears, and both in combination feel something akin to a purr. Then, he feels a scratching under his skin that wracks his whole body. Panic starts to set in, and he pulls up the sleeve of his left arm, the markings are glowing that same sapphire blue from earlier. Goosebumps roll across his arm, and a shiver cascades down his spine.

Left leg now bouncing involuntarily, Hanzo stands and walks. He just keeps moving, adrenaline and agitation coursing through his veins, accompanying the scratching, like claws and scales scraping his insides. No one told him that he would _feel_ the dragons under his skin, that they would alter his mood, his actions in such ways. He wonders if this is a product of being host to two dragons, if they are warring with each other, in disagreement considering one supposedly represents his honour and the other his freedom.

He wonders all of this because, so far, this has only happened when he thinks of Jesse.

When he finally stops walking, he assumes this was their doing. He thought he was walking with no intention to stop, with no destination in mind, but here he is, standing on the steps of Jesse’s apartment building.

On top of the agitation and anxiety and scratching, he now feels a sense of giddiness. The last time he was in Jesse’s apartment, they were watching the movie. He thinks about what he _should_ have done, which now has his stomach doing flips, then he thinks about _why_ he did not. He feels the dragons under his skin; quick, harsh movements, almost like they are thrashing, like they are at war with each other. He closes his eyes, tells them, practically _pleads_ with them to stop, because if they are to _help_ him find a balance between honour and freedom, doing what Hanzo can only assume is fighting and using his body as their battlefield is not the way to go.

When he feels another one of those waves of calm wash over him, he opens his eyes. He takes a moment to analyse the building, to feel some semblance of control; noting the slate colour of the building, counting the windows on each floor, from the first floor all the way up to the twelfth. Only when the sensations of adrenaline, agitation, giddiness and that tightness in his chest start to subside does he think about what to do.

With a deep inhale, he looks at the fourth floor, casting his eyes to where Jesse’s living room window is; not that he can see inside it with the angle of the sun against the tinted window. Right now, he has two options: One, he can go up there, see if Jesse is home and just enjoy his company. Two, he could turn around, go back home and catch Jesse at university, keep what they have as a friendship and not even entertain the idea of what he _wants._

He feels his leg tingle in that same way in the library on his journey, and thinks about honour versus freedom, how the kami told him the spirits will help keep a balance between the two. That warm vibration returns in his chest, the tightness easing off somewhat, and the overwhelming need to see Jesse right now—to see his smile, hear his voice—pushes Hanzo over the edge. He takes that first step towards the building, and that giddiness returns, which helps to soothe the anxiety slightly.

He opts to take the stairs once inside, to keep moving, as he knows he is unable to keep still right now. Excitement and nervousness and happiness all roil around in is stomach, a mix of emotions which are amplified—by the dragons, he assumes. As he climbs, he makes the realisation that the purring, which is louder now than before and happens whenever he thinks about Jesse, and the accompanying happiness he feels translates in part to his freedom.

It is a whole host of new feelings and emotions he will have to learn and control, it seems.

Standing outside room 428, Hanzo looks at the chrome-coloured numbers on the door as he takes a shaky breath. Bringing his hand up, he knocks on the door and waits. But as the seconds begin to drag, his anxiety increases again, its icy fingers pull at his insides. He should have texted Jesse at the very least to see if he was at home. Moments pass, and in the long-lingering silence, he shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep, steadying breath, coming to terms that he may not get to see Jesse today.

About ready to turn around and walk away, he hears the door unlock before opening. Hanzo does not give Jesse an opportunity to even greet him, he wraps his arms around Jesse the second he is clear of the door. Jesse embraces him, strong arms holding him close, an anchor, a safety blanket Hanzo did not realise he needed until now. He breathes in Jesse's natural smell, a muskiness that is stronger now than he has ever smelled, and guesses that he must have been working out. Hanzo does not care though, because with every breath he takes, every second that passes, the anxiety melts away.  
  
Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut when he feels Jesse kiss his head, a means to stop tears from threatening to spill. When Jesse speaks, the second his smooth drawl washes over him, the anxiety, the agitation is gone. He is content, he is happy and he is finally relaxed.

"Hey, sweetness, how'd you do?"

Unable to wipe the smile off his face, Hanzo looks up at Jesse, chin resting on his chest. “Good.”

“That’s great, Han. I’m so proud of you.” Jesse smiles, looking down at him with soft brown eyes. “Did you wanna come on in? Was just about to have a coffee.”

“Please.” Hanzo lays his head flat in the centre of Jesse’s chest, listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

“Han?” Jesse chuckles. “Not that I’m not liking this hug, but you’re gonna have to let go of me.”

“Oh,” Hanzo starts, letting go of Jesse and keeping his head down to hide the blush that must be obvious in his cheeks, given that they feel like they are on fire. “Sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologise for a hug,” Jesse says softly, draping an arm over his shoulders. Hanzo is pulled in close, tucked in nicely under Jesse’s arm and is guided into his apartment. Hanzo stops once inside, toes off his shoes and kicks them aside before being led to the couch. “I’m just gonna make the coffees, be right back.”

Hanzo nods, watching Jesse walk around the corner into the kitchen. He plays with his hands as he hears Jesse open and close cupboards, teaspoons clinking on ceramic. He then realises that for the first time since before his journey, he feels calm. There is no vibration, no hum in his ears, no anxiety causing his stomach to roil, and that tightness in his chest is gone. He pulls the sleeve of his jacket up, and the markings are faded again, now a barely noticeable grey against his skin.

“Here you go,” Jesse says, handing Hanzo his mug.

“Thank you.”

Jesse places his on the table before taking a seat, sitting close enough that their knees brush together. That giddiness returns, and he looks at Jesse and smiles.

“So what’d you have to do?”

“It was a spiritual journey of sorts… It did not merit grading, but I did pass.”

“Not surprised,” Jesse says, smiling back and nudging Hanzo’s leg playfully with his knee. “So now you’re seen as a man in the eyes of your family?”

“Yes.” Hanzo nods and briefly entertains the idea of showing Jesse the markings. He comes to his senses quickly though, as with that comes explaining the journey, being host to the spirit dragons, and _that_ is a closely guarded family secret. He does not want to think about the repercussions of sharing that; he has been punished for far less. “I am to get a tattoo,” Hanzo says instead. He knows he will not keep it hidden, that those in his classes know of his family and the ties to criminal activities so hiding it is pointless. “Two, actually.”

“Nice. What of?”

“Dragons. One on my arm, the other on my leg.”

Jesse nods slowly, and Hanzo starts to wonder if Jesse knows of his family’s history. “That’s a lot of ink, ain’t it?”

“Indeed. They think it could take a year, maybe longer.”

Jesse whistles, low and appreciative, like he understands the pain he will have to endure. “Nearly got one myself,” he pulls up his sleeve and reveals his left forearm, tapping it, “here. Was uh…” He looks out the window, vision unfocused for a moment. “I realised that life wasn’t for me, that just because it was my birthright, didn’t mean I had to do it.”  

That hits close to home for Hanzo. He thinks back to the idea of being that ordinary Hanzo in his journey, running away with Jesse and turning his back on responsibility, on _his_ birthright. Then he realises that not only would the clan ultimately not allow that, there is no way he would allow himself to be seen as a disappointment _and_ a deserter. “Sounds like you have understanding parents.”

“My mamá definitely was, and I think a _small_ part of my dad was relieved that I wanted to step away from that life. The rest of him practically disowned me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jesse. I did not know.”

“Eh, it’s all right,” Jesse says softly, shrugging. “Don’t really talk to him much. But it’s the reason I’m here, mostly. I wanted to live my own life, not one dictated by them.”

“That is understandable,” Hanzo says slowly. “I fear that if I dropped my responsibilities, I would not be treated as fairly. But I do not mind.”

“As long as it ain’t bothering you. I get family responsibility, and I know family means more here than in the States, but you gotta make sure you’re happy, Hanzo.”

“I am,” Hanzo breathes, looking at Jesse and smiling. “I am happy I am here, even though I crashed your Saturday afternoon plans,” he says sheepishly.

“Didn’t have any,” Jesse chuckles. “Spent the morning cleaning and just got back from a run when you knocked. Was plannin’ on beer and movies for the rest of the day.” He pauses, looks at his hands for a moment. “I ah… don’t suppose you wanna stay? Can watch Rashomon, make some popcorn, drink some beers?”

Hanzo smiles. “I would like that.”

“All right,” Jesse smiles wide, “let’s make it a date.”

Hanzo nods in agreement, then the true weight of those words hit him. He studies Jesse’s face, his eyes are full of hope, optimism, before dropping his gaze and looking at that small, lopsided smile on Jesse's lips. “A… date?”

Jesse’s smile softens, and he shuffles a little closer to Hanzo. “Han... I kind of like you.” He slides his left hand across the couch, brushes his pinky against Hanzo’s. “A lot.”

Hanzo’s stomach flutters again, and he places his hand on top of Jesse’s. “I like you too,” he says, voice barely a whisper as he stares at their joined hands. Jesse leans in a little closer, presumably because he did not hear that. “I like you too,” he repeats a little louder. “Whenever I see you, in class or in the library, it is as if all my worries, my anxiety washes away.” He looks up at Jesse, seeing just how close he is now, before looking into his eyes. _Honour versus freedom_ , he thinks, casting his mind back to the other night, when they were on this same couch. His stomach flutters, he feels like he is about to combust from the giddiness and excitement, deciding to do what he _should_ have done. With a smile, a slow, stuttered exhale, Hanzo’s eyes flit to Jesse’s lips, then back to his eyes again.

Linking his fingers with Jesse’s and bringing his other hand up to cup Jesse’s face, he leans forward slowly. This, right now, feels right, natural, more so now than the other night. He feels Jesse’s slow exhale on his lips, his nose brushes against his cheek. He pulls away slightly and Jesse closes the distance, presses his lips to Hanzo’s in the softest possible way. Hanzo pulls back just a bit, smiles, looks at Jesse through his lashes before leaning in again, this time parting his lips. The kiss deepens, though remains gentle, a sweet little caress, soft and delicate.

When the kiss recedes naturally, Jesse presses one kiss to the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, another to his cheek before pulling him in for a hug; their hands still joined. “If I’d known we’d be kissing,” he murmurs, “I would’ve had a shower. Brushed my teeth at the very least.”

“Nonsense,” Hanzo whispers, “it was perfect.”

Jesse relaxes, chuckles quietly. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Hanzo pulls away from Jesse, sweeps his hair behind his ear before cupping his face. Jesse turns his head, kissing Hanzo’s palm, and Hanzo giggles before embracing him again.

As the subtle vibration in his chest starts up again, he thinks that perhaps he can live a life of honour and freedom after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? Follow me on [Tumblr](https://chilliebean5.tumblr.com/) where I post snippets of upcoming wips!


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